


Talk

by GangstaCrow



Series: Talk [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anxiety, M/M, Pining, basically me projecting again, but lowkey anxiety since idk how it really works, but they might in the sequel if i decide to make one, oh and sorry but they dont get together in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-31 17:37:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12137649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GangstaCrow/pseuds/GangstaCrow
Summary: Kentaroulikeswhen it's quiet, so he doesn't understand why the silence is so crippling to him.Or: The person who judges you the harshest is always yourself.





	Talk

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. I was gonna make the end notes angsty as fuck but I didnt wanna hurt yall like that  
> 2\. this aint really a romance tho since its kinda personal :/ (i miss my boys so dont get too used to this non-romance thing)  
> 3\. you would think that two months of production would mean I proofread. you would be wrong lol (tell me about mistakes plz)

The house is silent when Kentarou steps inside. After he slides his shoes off and trudges into the kitchen for some juice, there's not a sound save for his own footsteps.

Nobody here to berate him for making reckless mistakes that cost his upperclassmen their last shot at nationals. Nobody here to punish him for the disrespect that cost so many people so much.

Kentarou knew nobody was going to be home and knows that even if they were, they wouldn't say a word to him, and it hurts. It hurts so fucking much and he doesn't know why.

Kentarou _likes_ when it's quiet, so he doesn't understand why the silence is so crippling to him.

He comes from a relatively large family where silence was a luxury he was never given. He's got three older sisters and two older brothers who are all one year apart. He relishes in the quiet he has now that they've all moved out and he absolutely despises how noisy they get when they visit, the equivalent of a frat party downstairs distracting him from doing homework.

Now he's all alone in a house that used to be filled with familiar voices and he doesn’t know why that’s bothering him when all he’d ever wanted whenever anyone else was around was for them to shut up.

He hates this.

He hates this house.

He hates his stupid unjustifiable feelings and he doesn't know what to do about it.

These things had never bothered him before. He hadn't cared when his family hadn't paid attention to him- better than his brothers and sisters trying to tease him like they used to- and he doesn't understand why he's getting so angry and upset _now_.

His life hasn't changed.

He’s fine.

He's okay.

So why the hell does it feel like his chest is being crushed by a ten-ton weight?

He goes to his room with his head pounding, shuffling through the meager items in his bedside drawer for some aspirin. He can't find it. He turns off all the lights in his room, points his fan at the head of his bed, and lays down. He's not tired, but it hurts to keep his eyes open. He lays on his bed trying to figure out why he can't get over this as easily as he usually does.

His mother calls him down for dinner and he’s trying his best not to stomp around in frustration.

It's him and his parents again. They don't mention the game he bombed for his team; he doesn't even think they know about it. Their meal is the same as it always is. It makes everything worse. His head still feels as though someone is beating the shit out of him from the inside and he can barely eat with the way his stomach is curling in on itself.

He glances at his father. Those eyes are as strong and proud as they always are, his hair a thick tangled mess of light brown. He glances at his mother. She's looking at the flowers she brought in that morning, her eyes so much like his own he can't bear to keep looking into them. Her hair is a deep brown, almost black, like his.

As he’s putting his dishes in the sink, his mother doesn't bat an eye at him and his father sits in the living room to watch tv.

When he's buried underneath his blanket, his head still pulsating pain, he tries to relieve some of the pressure inside him.

His room smells of salt and his head isn't better. He rises long enough to open his window before going to bed for the rest of the night.

 

* * *

 

School doesn't change save for two things: Yahaba and gossip.

The days following their loss, his teammate had taken it upon himself to try to get Kentarou more used to being around the the team. Dragging Kentarou away to eat lunch with him and Watari, making him actually give constructive criticism at practice instead of saying that his tosses suck, getting into Kentarou’s personal space if he loses his head and dips back into thoughtless recklessness. It's a bit overwhelming and he's stiff as a board the first time it happens, but he mellows out somewhat. That said, he still barely talks and he doesn't dare initiate conversations since he finds small talk incessantly annoying.

Watari doesn't like to push him though. He's too nice for his own good, and sometimes Kentarou is tempted to do anything he can to try to piss him off just to see him get angry. He'd never really do it though… unless he was bored.

He can thank his performance at the Spring High for the gossip. Seems like people have taken it upon themselves to remind him how much of a fuck up he is by talking about it while his back is turned. This isn't anything new. People have been talking about him for years due to his appearance and personality, but even so, the timing couldn't be worse. The wounds from the tournament are as fresh as the day he got them and all this is doing is rubbing salt into them.

He can hear them talking about it, feel their eyes on him as he walks down the halls of the school, reminding him that he basically crushed the dreams of all the third years with his disrespect and moronic decisions.

Whenever he tries to see who's doing it, he can never find them.

He can never pin down exactly who it is that's giving him so much grief.

Lunch is the worst. Walking down those narrow halls forces him to deals with all of those emotions in a relatively confined space.

He toughs it out for about a week before he gives up trying to force himself to be fine with it.

He glares at anyone who looks at him funny. Anyone who opens their mouth while looking anywhere near him gets sent running in the opposite direction. Talking _to_ him? Don't even try it. Not even the class rep is safe.

As soon as that bell rings for lunch he escapes to the stairwell where he used to spend all his breaks by himself.

This shouldn't bother him.

It hadn't before, and it shouldn't now, but the fact that it does blows what remains of his already shot conscience to smithereens. He slumps against the wall and sinks to the floor with a broken sigh.

He buries his face into his hands. He knew this was some form of karma for how much of an asshole he always is, and he'll admit he even saw this coming to some degree, but it's not like he intentionally tried to sabotage the game. That was just a side effect of putting him in.

But who the fuck cares about the specifics when he's the one who screwed up and walks around everyday like he doesn't give a shit about it?

Everywhere he looks he's constantly being reminded about it because Kentarou is some neanderthal with no concept of remorse, right? He needs to be _told_ when to experience guilt right? Because it's not like he's human too and knows the difference between right and wrong, right?

It's not like he already feels shitty enough as it is, right?

Right.

How long does he sit there?

A minute?

Five?

Ten?

He checks his phone. _Fifteen._

Huh. Seems as though he sits there for weeks on end.

The walls of the stairwell bounce the echoes of people's voices from the floors above and below, making him increasingly anxious.

What if somebody sees him? What if they try to talk to him? What if they try to ask him questions? Then what? Is he supposed to yell at them to get lost or stare them down until they figure it out on their own?

He should've stayed home today.

He can hear the telltale signs of someone coming and it couldn't get any worse. They walk pretty damn heavy, more so than him, and Kentarou’s pretty sure nobody could be more annoying if they tried.

He lifts his face from his hands in time to make eye contact.

“What are you doing?”

 _It's pretty fucking obvious what I'm doing._ Leave it to Yahaba to ask a stupid question like that. Kentarou doesn't even grace him with a response aside from staring at him.

Yahaba frowns. “Don't give me that look when you're the one who ran off before I could come get you.”

Kentarou frowns back. “I don't need a fuckin’ escort.”

Yahaba’s got this tiny little eye twitch when he starts to get mad. It makes him look kind of crazy, and Kentarou finds it hard to stay serious whenever he sees it. “Maybe I wouldn't have to babysit you if you could manage to find the way on your own.” After a beat of silence, his brow quirks up, confusion spreading over his features. “What are you doing over here anyway?”

_Don't._

He doesn't mention anything about it.

Kentarou rolls his eyes. “Hiding from you and your shit-smelling hairspray.”

Yahaba squawks indignantly as Kentarou stands. “It doesn't smell bad!”

Kentarou stands to go back downstairs, suppressing his thoughts as he focuses on the person in front of him. “Your nose must be fucked if you think it smells good.”

Yahaba touches his hair with a conflicted expression on his face. “Thanks asshole, now that's gonna be the only thing I think about all day.”

As they walk side by side, their hands almost brush against each other. His arms are only slightly longer and he's only slightly taller, but it's enough for Kentarou to notice.

Sometimes he barely acknowledges it and sometimes it makes him green with envy.

Back on the second floor they pass by people who don't even notice he's there since he's with Yahaba. Eating outside is kind of a pain since it rained a couple days ago and it's still a little wet, but leave it to Yahaba to make them do it anyway. Watari’s already there. He doesn't look surprised to see them coming late, he doesn't even acknowledge it, all he does is scoot over to make room for Yahaba in the space next to him.

Kentarou doesn't like sitting too close to either of them. It makes him extremely conscious of everything they do around him. It's uncomfortable.

Yahaba and Watari are chatting away while Kentarou stuffs his face with the chips he stole from Yahaba. First it's Watari asking for help with his chemistry homework, then it's Yahaba talking about his… whatever pet he said he has. Kentarou isn't as focused on what they're saying as he is on what they're doing.

Watari’s eating his lunch like a normal person as he listens intently to his friend. Meanwhile, Yahaba's hair is doing this thing where it likes to sway in time with him when he speaks. Not all his hair though, just this one little piece that sticks up, kind of like a metronome.

His hair is silver, soft looking. It makes him feel strange in a way he can't place.

Now they're looking at him like he's supposed to say something, and surprise, he doesn't know what the hell is going on. Kentarou’s eyes dart between them. “What?”

Watari’s giving him a knowing smile and Yahaba rolls his eyes with a scoff.

He could've done without all the extra sass, thank you very much.

Yahaba opens his mouth to say something- probably to be a little shit- but Watari beats him to it. “I asked if you wanted to study with us tomorrow. You said you were having trouble with math and English, right?”

He doesn't really want to go, not really. He could probably figure out his trigonometry homework on his own with help from the internet. English is another story. The sounds are difficult to work through, the rules of the language plentiful and complicated. He doesn't want to risk getting stuck on his own.

With great effort on his part, Kentarou manages to say yes without gritting his teeth. Watari is grinning at him and Yahaba has the barest of smiles on his face too, not big enough to be major, but big enough for his dimples to show up.

He shoves more chips into his mouth and looks away.

Kentarou doesn't say a word for the remainder of lunch. It's a pretty normal thing to expect from him given how little he has to say. He tries his best not to look at Yahaba anymore.

When the bell rings, before they head back to their respective classrooms, Yahaba puts a hand on his shoulder. It's firm but not too rough, asking him to stay put but still giving him the option to keep walking. It's warm. So warm that he can feel it in his fingers and toes. “Hold on a second.”

His face feels warm. Is it red? He hopes not. “What?”

Yahaba's hand is kind of big. Maybe not giant, but it's larger than average. “You know you can talk to me if something's wrong, right?”

Kentarou shrugs him off. “I know. I've listened to the speech about communication you made just for me a hundred times.”

Yahaba crosses his arms. “I'm trying to be nice.”

The back of his neck is probably red, it's always the first to give him away. “You sure? Because it seems like you're nagging for no reason.”

“Yes. And you could make an effort to do the same instead of being a dick all the time.”

_Oh yeah._

Kentarou isn’t sure when exactly that started. When they stopped despising each other and started getting along. When he stopped seeing Yahaba as a prissy rich kid and started seeing a someone who's as stubborn and strong-willed as he is. Maybe it was when they found the dog and the cat and were forced to work together. Maybe it was after the Wall ThingTM. Or maybe it was when it was raining and Kentarou shoved his umbrella into Yahaba’s hands without a second thought because he l-

_Whoa._

He hasn't let that train of thought get that far in a while.

Kentarou shoves that back into the vault and lets Yahaba win this one. He deserves it. He _is_ trying to move forward, which is more than Kentarou can say for himself. He brushes past Yahaba on his way back inside. “Whatever.”

Yahaba probably smiles at that. Kentarou’s tempted to peek over his shoulder to check, but he decides against it.

Kentarou gets back to his classroom and sits back at his desk.

He finds it hard to focus during his remaining lessons.

Practice is a new experience with the way he's hyperaware of everything Yahaba does and every move he makes.

As they exit school grounds, Yahaba gives him a pat on the shoulder before they part ways. The touch lingers for hours.

His homework doesn't get done that night.

His face is engulfed in flames.

 

* * *

 

Normal Saturday's are filled with  volleyball and lazing around the house. He could leave if he wanted to, his parents wouldn't care, but he doesn't have anyone to go see.

A Saturday with Yahaba and Watari could be tolerable provided they actually help him with his homework and don't try to rope him into anything stupid.

A Saturday with _only_ Yababa should never happen. Ever.

But it does.

Watari, the very person who asked them to do this stupid study group thing, had the nerve to get the fucking flu. From the time he left school on Friday to when he woke up on Saturday, he gets a fever and is projectile vomiting all over the place.

Kentarou thinks he gave himself food poisoning or snorted coke off a hobo's ass to intentionally get sick enough to leave him stranded with Yahaba.

Yahaba’s worried about something. They met completely on accident on their way to visit Watari and he could tell right away- it's like he's got a sixth sense for it. He's trying not to make it obvious which is impossible with the way he's staying ominously silent.

Watari pretends not to notice it when they enter his room.

It's gross. Tissues everywhere, red nose, sweat, nasally voice.

Watari thinks Kentarou is teasing him by standing by the door instead of moving closer, but Kentarou genuinely doesn't want to catch whatever he has.

Watari sounds half dead. Tired, slight cough, breathing heavily. “Sorry I can't make it guys-” A harsh, snot filled sneeze into a tissue. “I don't know what happened. Wanna try again next week?”

Yahaba has on his _real_ smile. The heart stopper, the one that melts the hearts of girls at school and reminds people who’s going to be the new third year pretty boy next year.

Kentarou looks away.

He can hear how Yahaba’s trying to keep his voice low so Kentarou can't hear what he's saying. It works.

Kentarou doesn't have much to say besides an awkward “get well soon” before he walks down the hall to the door.

He thinks Yahaba’s going to stay to take care of his friend before he feels a shoe hit the back of his neck.

Kentarou whips around so fast he hears his neck gives a faint crack. Yahaba has on this stupid smug smile, though his eyes ooze annoyance.

The twitching eye is back. Kentarou might cry if he laughs.

“Did you think you could get out of studying just because Watari wouldn't be with us?” His hand is on his hip and his tone is so haughty that Kentarou almost wants to punch him, but it's not like he's wrong. Kentarou doesn't really _want_ to spend a day with Yahaba. He'd much rather go home and have some time to himself. But that stupid creampuff bastard is leaning down next to where he's sitting, breath on Kentarou’s cheek as he eases his shoes on without missing a beat after Kentarou makes it clear he's got nothing to say. “Well tough titties. I said I was going to help you, I'm not going to let you get benched because of your grades.”

“You said titty.”

Yahaba startles at that, almost falling over as he turns to look at Kentarou. “S-So?”

“Nothin’.” It's weird hearing words like titty from Yahaba. It doesn't fit his nice guy demeanor, makes him look like a closet pervert.

The snort he gets is proof enough, though he does take a bit of satisfaction in the pink snaking its way across Yahaba’s cheeks. “We're going to my place to get started.”

His heart does this weird short circuit.

 _Phrasing, dipshit._ Yahaba needs to fix his wording.

They exit Watari’s apartment and head in the direction of Yahaba’s apartment building. The air between them is perfectly fine yet Kentarou’s finding it hard to breathe between him trying to work up the nerve to say something and the minuscule, barely-there brush he feels against his hand

Why is he nervous? They're somewhat friends. They're _teammates_. They're _studying,_ something normal people do on a daily basis. It'll be fine. Nothing to worry about.

Yahaba lives in one of the fancier complexes in the city ten minutes away from Watari, and Kentarou looks painfully out of place following him inside. The elevator isn't cramped in the slightest but Kentarou is acutely aware of how close Yahaba is to him. Riding in an elevator has never felt so agonizingly long in his life. When a bell dings to single they're at the third floor, Kentarou’s running on autopilot as he follows Yahaba. The hallway isn't anything overtly fancy aside from a ficus next to the elevator doors and the elegant maroon wallpaper and beige tiles on the floor. Yahaba pulls out his keys, his six keychains ~~who the fuck has that many holy shit~~ jingling as he turns the lock.

_Holy fuck._

The place, while smaller than Kentarou’s house, is at least five times as amazing. The entryway is standard tile for people to remove their shoes, but the rest of the place has this beautiful dark oak flooring. After toeing off his shoes, Kentarou blindly trailz after Yahaba, eyes roaming over everything they pass. Paintings and family portraits litter the walls. A flat screen tv rests on a black entertainment center with a cable box and movies stashed next to it. A white couch with two chairs to match it. A glass coffee table. A white dining table. A black lamp with a white shade. Everything follows the same theme of black and white. Kentarou isn’t in any position to talk shit, because if his parents hadn’t spent all their money trying to take care of their big ass family, their house would probably look like this too. He doesn’t understand why rich people are so obsessed with black and white. Maybe it makes the place seem bigger than it is seeing as how Kentarou can only see three rooms down the hall, and if that’s the reason, it’s working.

The only splashes of color he can see in the house are in Yahaba’s room. His eyes are drawn to the burgundy rug in the middle of the floor that looks ridiculously soft and he kind of wants to skip studying and lay on it. It looks a lot more comfortable than the torn mattress he’s got at home that his parents keep forgetting to replace. Yahaba waltzes in and sits himself at the desk that’s the same one as Kentarou’s and that makes him feel some kind of tingle in his stomach. The navy blue bedspread that would’ve been placed neatly over every corner of the bed is jumbled up into a pile with a little head sticking out.

A head with familiar black fur that’s attempting to growl at him but ends up letting out more of an excited yelp. There’s movement further down the pile, rapidly flicking side to side the more he stares at those little eyes sparkling with recognition.

Kentarou can’t help it. He crouches down and opens his arms. The little guy scrambles off the bed, almost trips, and barrels into him, a whining and yipping mess. He can’t manage to pet him because he keeps licking his hands. Don’t get him wrong, it’s cute, but how is he supposed to pet him if he won’t calm the hell down?

Kentarou looks up at Yahaba, who’s staring at him across the room with this face that’s kind of… wistful? Thoughtful? Amused? He can’t think of a word for it because he’s too busy trying to force himself to not do anything stupid since this is _obviously_ making him angry, and it’s _not_ making him feel some type of way- his heart is beating normally and his stomach is perfectly settled and his face is cooler than it’s ever been in his life, thank you very much.

He must’ve been staring back at him for too long because Yahaba’s eyes widen a bit before he’s sputtering and turning back to his desk to shuffle through his papers. “Hurry up and get your stuff out. I want to get started on this before you get even more distracted.”

Kentarou rolls his eyes. "It's not my fault he likes me more than you.”

Yahaba frowns. “He does not.”

“He does. He didn't care when you walked in, but when he saw me, he was hype as shit.” The dog must know that he’s talking about him, because as Kentarou sits on the rug he was looking at earlier, the dog is jumping at him, trying to lick his face.

Yahaba has the nerve, the sheer audacity, to look _annoyed_ at that. “First of all, he only did that because he hasn't seen you since that day you first saw him. And second of all, I'm not going to have a debate with you about who _my_ dog likes better.”

Kentarou isn't so sure, and Yahaba can see it plain as day on his face. Their don't waver as they stare into each other's eyes. Kentarou turns his attention back to the dog as heat creeps up his neck. Again. “So you're not mad?”

“No.”

“Because you seem mad.”

“Kyoutani?”

“What?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Kentarou almost barks out a laugh.

Yahaba’s back to scribbling on his schoolwork and he pulls out his own so Yahaba can help him. He looks over it once. Then twice. Then he realizes he's extremely more focused on the fact that Yahaba is pretty much within touching distance if he stretched out and leaned forward a few extra centimeters. It's too close, so close that he feels unreasonably hot and sweat is forming on his back-

Nope. That's the dog licking him.

It's still distracting him though. He's sitting on that rug pretending to read these notes that are nothing but doodles of dogs and bumblebees while a dog tries to worm its way underneath his shirt to leech off his warmth when he realizes that what he really wants to do is look at Yahaba. To get a reaction out of him, to piss him off, maybe check in on that little piece of hair.

_What the hell is wrong with me?_

Why is he so worried about Yahaba all of a sudden?

Why is he panicking about it?

Kentarou picks up an eraser and chucks it at the side of Yahaba’s head. He hears a sigh before Yahaba turns away from his work again. “What is it Kyoutani?”

“I need help.”

Yahaba doesn't say a word about Kentarou’s flushed features or the way he seems to be rushing what he's saying. He beckons him to come closer. “Come on then. Bring it over so I can show you what to do.”

Kentarou does as he's told, and the butterflies in his stomach turn into a tsunami when his shoulder presses against Yahaba’s.

Yahaba’s notes are nice and neat. Even though he's in college prep classes and has to write at the speed of light to keep up, everything is prim and proper.

He's only talking about the handwriting of course. The notes themselves are utterly fucking atrocious.

They're in a system that only makes sense to Yahaba. Abbreviations done in a way that appears random with topics grouped together sporadically, reasons only clear to Yahaba himself.

Kentarou’s oddly interested in hearing how the fuck he managed to put it together. His gaze flicks back over to him.

He's got a mole on the side of his neck. From its position Kentarou assumes that it's normally hidden underneath his collar whenever they're at school.

Yahaba likes to put his pencil between his lips when he's not writing. He's not biting it like Kentarou would, he's letting it rest there while his eyes roam over Kentarou’s notebook. He feels faintly self conscious about how his penmanship isn't as good as it should be for someone his age, and he immediately roundhouse kicks that part of his brain. But when that thought dies, the one concerning how he might be breathing a bit too loud and maybe Yahaba can hear him rises to the surface.

Yahaba moves the pencil away from his mouth as he turns back to Kentarou. “Everything's good so far. All you have to do is find the missing angle and you'll be set. You didn't get anything wrong, you just gotta used to doing the more difficult problems.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you're doing it right but you keep choking.”

“You callin’ me a pussy?”

 

“You said it, not me.”

 

Kentarou snatches the paper out of Yahaba’s hands. “Just for that, I'm gonna kidnap your dog when I leave.”

Yahaba gasps. “Don't you dare!”

“I probably won't even have to kidnap him. He's probably gonna follow me out without me havin’ to force him.”

Yahaba opens his mouth for a snarky comeback when he hears the dog getting impatient with the lack of attention. He opens his arms, but the dog jumps on Kentarou’s legs instead. Yahaba makes a betrayed noise. “Poncho, how could you?”

Kentarou side eyes him. “What kinda name is Poncho?”

“Well, when I brought him home for the first time, the first thing he did was steal my dad's poncho and slept on it for three days. I thought the name was fitting.”

Kentarou snorts at that as he sits back on the rug. Poncho runs back over and tries to get him to play. “Still a shitty name.” Poncho runs under Yahaba’s bed to pull out a toy. It's this tiny little dragon that quacks like a duck when he squeezes it. The guy who made it needs to be fired.

Yahaba staring at him again. He's not even saying anything, just staring at him like he's looking for something specific. When he can't find it, his face changes. “You remember what I told you yesterday right?”

“You mean when you hit that girl in the stands with your serve and I said it was was shitty and you lectured me for ten minutes on how to give criticism?”

“No, before that. At lunch.”

Kentarou rolls his eyes. “If it’s that important then don't make me guess.”

Yahaba clicks his teeth. “You make it so difficult to be nice sometimes.”

Kentarou waves a hand. “Get on with it.”

Yahaba throws a pencil at him. “Before you started acting like a prick, I wanted to remind you that I'm here if you need to talk about anything.

“Before I started? What about now?”

“I'm taking it back since you're being an insufferable piece of shit.”

“Dick.”

They fall into silence after that. Kentarou doesn't think he should be getting smart with Yahaba like that. After all, he's only trying to help. Then again, Kentarou never asked for his help, and quite frankly, he isn't sure he needs it.

He can handle this fine as long as he pretends not to listen to everyone and ignores the way eyes follow his every move and he remembers to breathe normally because, again, this isn't really that big of a deal.

_I got this._

Yeah. He doesn't need it at all.

Yahaba’s a good guy, but Kentarou doesn't need his help.

 

* * *

 

Kentarou doesn't have anything special to do. Sunday afternoons are reserved for whatever homework he hasn't finished followed by whatever he wants to do. He can sleep some more if he wakes up before 2 p.m, which is unlikely on the weekend, or he can roam the streets until his feet are swollen and sore.

He likes to do the latter.

There's this particular bridge that he finds his thoughts drifting back to. The water is shallow enough to wade in, but not deep enough to swim in. On sunny days it's clear enough to see the stones that rest beneath the supports of the bridge.

He remembers jumping off when he was younger. He'd gone through a phase where he liked to climb and jump off of anything he could. He got grounded seven times for it.

Kentarou’s gotten older though, so while me might've gotten a concussion from the fall when he was six, he's pretty sure he'd be fine if he decided to take a dive. He decides he wants to to spend a few minutes there. It's quiet. Not completely isolated, but not regularly traveled.

He heads in the direction of that bridge when he hears giggling. He immediately tenses up.

This isn’t any ordinary type of giggling. No, this is the type of excited giggling most commonly associated with Oikawa.

Kentarou can always tell when it's him. He can either hear Iwaizumi’s deep voice scolding him or the high pitched flirting of nearby girls. The sheer amount of noise that follows him around makes it easy to figure out where he is.

Figuring out _why_ he's around is its own task.

Kentarou doesn't want to deal with this on his day off. He hasn't seen him, hasn't had any real contact with him since he pretty much ruined his lifelong dream of getting revenge on Ushijima.

But there he is, standing in the middle of the sidewalk with his back to Kentarou, turning his head over his shoulder in an attempt to be dramatic.

_What the fuck kinda team did I join where this idiot managed to become captain?_

Oikawa gasps, turning to face Kentarou completely. “Kyouken-chan, what a surprise! I didn't know you walked this way!”

Kentarou resists the urge to bang his head against the wall and bolt. He offers no reply.

Oikawa frowns, pout surfacing as he crosses his arms. “Why do you always ignore me? I haven't even done anything yet.”

 _Yet._ Kentarou doesn't want to do this right now. He gets enough headaches without Oikawa adding to them. “What do you want?”

“How rude! Is it so hard to believe that I want to spend some quality alone time with my precious teammate?”

“Ex teammate. And yes.” Speaking of, why is Oikawa alone? Lately he and Iwaizumi have been inseparable.

Oikawa huffs. “Shi-chan wouldn't treat me like this! He's a respectful kouhai!”

“No he isn't. He'd sass you more than I ever could.”

“No he wouldn't!”

“Yes he would.”

Oikawa turns his chin up, voice turning to a whine. “Fine! I guess you don't have time to hear what I need to tell you since you're so busy being mean!”

_Fine by me._

Kentarou tries to sidestep Oikawa. He realizes Kentarou is trying to escape and blocks his path, nervous laughter leaking from his lips. “B-But if you want to know that badly, I guess I have to tell you!”

Kentarou groans. “Get on with it then.”

Oikawa makes a show of brushing off his jacket. His eyes flick up to Kentarou, and he immediately turns away. He doesn't want to deal with this right now. “Shi-chan’s been talking about you. He says you haven't been talking much since we lost.”

Kentarou shrugs. “That's kinda my thing. I'm always quiet.”

“True. To everyone else it might not seem out of the ordinary, but it's different this time, isn't it?” He doesn't sound angry or condescending. He's just… neutral. Like he's had to deal with this before.

Kentarou doesn't say anything.

Oikawa shakes his head with a sigh. “I figured. You're just like Iwa-chan, you know. You're stubborn and think everything bad that happens is purely because of you.”

Isn't it though? If he weren't so rash they could've taken that set. If he weren't so short he could've blocked that last spike. He lost the game.

Oikawa waves him off. “Who's to say who or what exactly made us lose.” _Shit, did I say that out loud?_ “It could've been any of us, I don't know for sure. But what I do know is that there are six people on the court, so one person doesn't dictate how a game ends. We're all responsible for it. Trying to shoulder all the blame is stupid.”

Kentarou tries to bury his face in his jacket, mumbling. “The whole point of me comin’ back was because I was supposed to be useful. To get us to finally win.”

Oikawa hums. “I'm not gonna lie to you Kyouken-chan, you're right. When I asked you to come back it was only because I wanted your skills. We thought you were just a tool that needed to be used, and because of that, we didn't bother working with you and let you get away with anything you wanted.” He lets the barest of smirks enter his expression. “Well, most of us did. Not everyone.”

Kentarou’s cheeks are on fire, voice wavering with exasperation. “What do you want from me?”

“I want you to stop blaming yourself. You're not the only one who screwed up that day, so stop acting like it's just your fault. You're one of us. You're part of a team that cares about you.”

Kentarou grits his teeth. “I fuckin’ know. I don't need you to tell me that.”

A scoff. _That bitch._ “No? Then why don't I believe you? Why doesn't Shi-chan believe you?”

 _Ouch._ That one stung a little.

Why though? That's kind of weird.

Kentarou growls. “He needs to mind his own business.”

Oikawa frowns. _Ooh, serious. I'm real fuckin’ scared._ “Don't start with that Kyoutani. He's trying to help you. Don't shut him out.”

And suddenly, Kentarou doesn't have anything left to say.

Believe him, he tries to come up with something to sass Oikawa with, but he can't. Nothing enters his mind except a look of disappointment that almost makes him deflate like a balloon.

Oikawa keeps staring at him. When he realizes that Kentarou won't be saying anything else, he relents. He makes a move to walk away, but he gives Kentarou one last look. “Talk to someone. I don't care who it is or when it is, but you need to. Holding this kind of stuff in will only makes things worse.”

Oikawa pulls out his phone to call someone as he heads down the street. He can't be certain, but he's got a good idea of who it is.

Kentarou’s shaking.

Is he mad? Probably.

Is he upset? Maybe.

Is he confused? You bet your ass.

Because of all the people he expected this from, Oikawa was nowhere near the top.

The two of them are strangers. They don't know anything about each other aside from rumors or common knowledge. They aren't related to each other, hell, they aren't even close for crying out loud!

Yet Oikawa is one of two people that notice something's wrong with him.

The person he'd done nothing but berate, ignore, and shit talk is the one who's out here talking his ear off. He’s looking out for him as though he's Kentarou’s dad or something, like they're some kind of family.

How is he supposed to react to the fact that someone whom he barely knows is trying to fix the shit flying around in his head?

Well one thing's for sure, he shouldn't do what he ends up doing.

Bury it, that is.

_This never happened._

He continues on his way to the bridge like he hadn't seen Oikawa at all. He stops at crosswalks when he's supposed to. He glances at flowers. He stares at dogs and cats. He acts normal.

_Never happened._

The path to the bridge is as empty as ever. Not a soul to be seen and not a sound to be heard.

_Never happened._

The water's risen. Must be due to that big storm they had recently.

_… never happened._

He leans against the railing of the bridge, arms crossed with his head leaning on them. He exhales loudly through his nose.

_Yeah right. Like it's ever been that easy._

His muscles are tight and he wants to bite someone's head off. He wants to growl and scream and throw a fit but it won’t change anything.

_Fuuuck..._

What is he supposed to do now? This isn't going away. He can't forget it like he can everything else, which he's having trouble doing as it is. And what was that whole speech for anyway? _Kyouken needs to talk about his feelings more, blah blah blah._ Who does that guy think he is?

So what if he hates when his family constantly tries to pry into his business but hates when they ignore him? That's normal, hormonal teenage behavior.

So what if he's so focused on what he thinks about his own mistakes that he takes it out on other people, acting as if they're actually treating him the way he thinks he deserves to be treated? Guilt and humiliation do that sometimes.

So what if the world keeps moving even as he drowns in everything he keeps locked inside? One monkey don't stop the show.

He's fine.

He doesn't _need_ to talk about this stuff. It's white noise. He'll get over it in a week and go about his life, nothing to worry about. These issues make a lot of sense, they're absolutely normal, and he doesn't understand why people think he needs to talk about it.

It's not like they're going to kill him or anything.

He stands on that bridge for a while.

He watches the sun go down behind the houses he can see in the distance.

He can hear dogs barking nearby.

His phone vibrates in his pocket. He ignores it.

There's a breeze. His jacket is a bit too thin for his liking. He should've grabbed his thick sweatshirt instead.

A beehive looks likes it's on its last legs from the way it's precariously hanging from the branch a few meters away.

Feet scuff the ground as they approach him. He would've paid them no mind since nobody in their right mind would try to bother a stranger on a secluded bridge ~~because that's just common sense~~.

Those heavy ass footsteps make him feel some type of way.

There's familiar heat against his left side. Shoulders touching shoulder. Arm touching arm. Leg touching leg. It's not supposed to make him want to run away or anything, but he certainly wants to.

Kentarou honestly doesn't understand why he’s been acting this way. None of their interactions are anything abnormal by anyone’s standards, so he doesn't get it.

Sometimes Kentarou finds it easier to breathe when they're together, but when his hair falls just in front of his forehead to cover his eyes ever so slightly it feels as though he's suffocating. He'll say he hates Kentarou but then he'll toss to him like he was born to do it, like he knows everything about him. He’ll try to comfort Kentarou by giving him these tiny little friendly touches and he'll leave him itching for more.

Kentarou glances to the side. Yahaba isn't saying anything or looking at Kentarou. He's just… there.

Standing next to Kentarou.

And it helps.

Because instead of all those things that make his head spin all he can think about is Yahaba.

Which is okay. He doesn't know when that started being okay, but it is, and he's not angry about it.

Yahaba’s always doing stuff like this. Distracting him to the point where he has nothing left to do other than to listen to what he says.

What was it that he said?

_You know you can talk to me if something's wrong, right?_

Well then.

Kentarou won't ever say any of this out loud, but with the way Yahaba is making him feel so light without having to say anything...

  
Maybe he'll listen to him. Eventually.

**Author's Note:**

> soo yeah. that happened. I added a bunch of made up details to make the story better but the base message is the same. this was basically me admittin that I lowkey think somethin is wrong with me since everytime I do somethin even remotely wrong I think people are treatin me different when theyre probs just goin about their day mindin their own business. but I dont like to talk about the shit Im goin through and hate the idea of havin to talk to a psychiatrist (idk why, talkin to doctors and shit just scares the fuck outta me) so I guess we'll never know for sure. and I also think its kinda weird how people on the internet notice when somethins wrong with you faster than your family does.
> 
> basically i needed a minute to deal with some random fuckery but im back on my bullshit
> 
> *cue shamless promotion*
> 
> why dontcha follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/gangstacrowtwit) and sliiiiiide into my dms to scream about my boys


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